The revolver hung heavy against Allan’s side, tucked beneath his faded duster. He tried to ignore it, but with every stride the gun would poke him like a dog begging attention. Just ahead, Jim was guiding them up an overgrown trail running alongside the edge of a small ravine.
He did not much abide guns, being a preacher, but he saw the need for them. As the frontier grew, the church had needed to push the preaching circuits further and further west. He had nearly lost his way this time out; stumbling upon Jim’s farm had been God’s own blessing.